


Stuffed Deductions

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Overeating, belly stuffing, full belly, much huffing and puffing, stuffed deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this fatlock scenario: Sherlock receiving a txt from Greg, with a case that's at least a 9, just after finishing a stuffing session and insisting on going to the crime scene. More likely waddling. and then the subsequent discussions on the post :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuffed Deductions

Sherlock sighed and sat back from the coffee table. He groaned softly, rubbing at his rounded belly as he leaned back against the sofa. His dinner had consisted of a rather impressive serving of chicken alfredo which Angelo had sent along. As if Angelo's servings themselves weren't large and rich enough to share between two people, the man had also insisted on sending along a dozen breadsticks, a Caesar salad that was more parmasean and dressing than romaine, and a gorgeous trio of large cannolis. And Sherlock had eaten it. All. He supposed he should have mentioned that John was out for a couple of days visiting his sister. Still, it had proven marvelously entertaining while it lasted. Sherlock burped loudly and groaned again as his overstuffed belly gurgled. He rubbed at his belly, smiling at how heavily it sat in his lap, how far it bulged as a result of his meal. He felt flushed, full, and content. He doubted he could move if he wanted to. He settled in for a bit of a kip.

There was a ping.

Sherlock grunted and opened his eyes, looking blearily for the source and spied his mobile. It pinged again as the screen lit up. Sherlock huffed, gasping as he maneuvered awkwardly around his stuffed gut to reach for it. He frowned as he opened the messages, then his eyes widened in interest.

Sherlock, I've got a murder in a locked room with no windows and no feasible murder weapon. Will you come? - D.I. Lestrade

Sherlock quickly texted back. 10 minutes. Address. - SH

He felt almost giddy with excitement. Finally! Something worthy of holding his interest! This was at least an 8, perhaps even a 9 (He couldn't bear to hope for a 10). He made to leap to his feet but then fell back with a huff as his abdomen cramped painfully.

"Hmm..." he breathed, walking his fingers along the curve of his overfull belly.

Actually. Be there in 20 minutes. - SH

It took closer to thirty minutes for Sherlock to make it to the crime scene, though it hadn't exactly been very far away. His first difficulty had been in getting up from the sofa. He'd almost had to roll himself off the blasted thing. Then came doing up his trousers again. He couldn't risk laying down on the couch again because he likely wouldn't get up again after. At last he'd managed to suck in his gut enough to button up. He couldn't close his jacket very well, but he simply shifted the button up so that it perched on top of his belly. He'd swung on his coat and then realized he'd have to bed down to tie his shoes. That had been a study in pure torture as his waistband pressed on his gut. Still. He'd made it to the crime scene. He huffed, muffling a belch as he stepped out of the car and straightened up. He tried his best to suck in his belly, but all he succeeded in doing was to cause an increase in the discomfort of his midsection. His belly was continuing it's brutal war with his trouser buttons. He grunted and tried to pull his coat around himself a bit more, but it was far to warm to button it.

He spotted Lestrade and waddled over to get the details.

"Ah, Sherlock, thank God! Listen I-blimey, are you alright?" asked the detective inspector, looking at Sherlock with concern at the man's odd gait.

"Fine," snapped Sherlock, muffling a belch, "Where is the victim?"

"Right this way, I can't make head or tail of it. Anderson is pulling samples now to try to identify the poor sod. He says he can't find anything out of the ordinary."

"Unsurprising as it is And-urp-son."

"Are you sure you're okay, mate? You're looking a bit green and well," said Lestrade, his eyes, flicking down to Sherlock's middle. Sherlock scowled.

"I'm fine! Just... had dinner before you contacted me," he said sniffily.

"Oh, well sorry about ruining your digestion. Murderers don't keep regular hours, you know," added Lestrade chuckling. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and stalked over to the body. He softened his footsteps after a couple of steps though. The jostling wasn't doing anything for his belly. It gurgled in protest as he made to bend down and examine the dead man. His waist band bit him in retort to the motion and he hissed. He straightened and tried again, but felt as if he were about to burst his button.

"What are you doing, Freak?" came Sally Donovan's usual sneer, "Bit of aerobics or something? I can see why. Looks like you need it."

Sherlock gave her a glare piercing enough to kill, but he couldn't deny he felt heat rising in his cheeks. "Er-I-I see you've been practicing some yourself lately. Still with Anderson? I do hope the wife doesn't find out," he retorted, rather lamely. Donovan sniffed and folded her arms, then walked primly over to Anderson. He could hear them snickering. Still, he put them from his mind. He sucked in his gut, then lowered himself slowly with a groan to examine the belly hung heavily down, putting him slightly off balance. He didn't even want to think about getting back up again. He crouched over the man and bent to inspect the eyeglasses in the man's breast pocket. There was a small pop and Sherlock's belly suddenly felt a bit, well breezier. He swallowed and ran his hand down his middle, feeling tight bloated skin. One of his shirt buttons. Ah. He huffed and then returned to his task, delicately removing them. He sighed as he observed the end of the frame that had been sharpened to a point. He examined the hole at the man's jugular, then lifted each eyelid carefully in return. He dug out the man's wallet. Well. That was disappointingly easy. He muffled a burp again and swayed. He really didn't want to stand up. He wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to.

Still, Sherlock rocked, and then pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of pain. He moved back over to Lestrade. "Blind man killed by his-hmmf sister for the insurance money. Brought here, killed with these spectacles. Room was locked from the outside after the mhurp-der was committed. Boring. Her number is on the back of his bus card. Doubtlessly in case he loses it. Goodbye."

He walked back out to the main road and caught a taxi. He huffed as he pulled himself in and then decided sod it and undid his trouser button once again. "Oomph, that's better." He rubbed his belly idly and was immeasurably glad that he wouldn't have to be chasing a murderer across London tonight. Oddly, he had solved that case in nearly record time. Had it been that obvious or had his mental faculties been somehow... enhanced? He would have to experiment. He wondered if there was any more ice cream in the freezer.


End file.
